The Art of Living

For as long as I can remember, I have been a lover of the great outdoors. I frolicked as a young child splashing after tadpoles in a nearby pond, dug in the dirt for worms, picked buttercups and lupines for my mother and climbed up the closest tree I could spy.

As a teen, I was more interested in the river and the gorge that was adjacent to where I lived than any modern day materialistic pursuit. I explored the wilderness and its treasures, whatever the season; I could find beauty and happiness whether there was snow, rain or sun.

My Irish Setter, Rusty, and I would set out on any day and run through the meadow, down a steep hill to the river's edge. I could never keep up with her rapid pace. Rusty, flying and tearing through the tall grasses of the meadow, would leave me sorrowfully behind despite all my best efforts to race and keep up with her. My long legs stretching as far as they could and my breathing, heavy and winded, she would always win with barely a pant in her breathing, and her eyes wide and brown reflecting estatic joy.

At the base of the hill, the treeline emerged of our magical black forest. There we would begin our ecological excursions and explore together like two best friends confiding in one another about the secrets hidden among the trees. After collecting and sharing our secrets, we'd scout for our favorite resting place. The darkness of the woodland forest enveloping us as we revelled in the risks and adventure of moving through the thick bushes to finally come upon the highest ledge of the gorge. The only things happening here were daydreams, birds singing and insects flitting about as I would dangle my skinny little legs over the limestone outcropping, and Rusty would sit proud and tall with her fur brushing against my arm; a fierce protector of the girl with long thick black hair and freckles. Doesn't it sound peaceful, innocent and playful? Just like the forest itself...

As I grew into a young woman, I continued to be outdoors landscaping gardens to enhance biological diversity, hiking and climbing mountains, backpacking and exploring the wild world around me. In my thirties, I continued to work outside for AZ Game and Fish and as an Environmental Scientist Consultant. Helping in small ways to conserve and protect wildlife habitat. Ecological stewardship is a vital priority that shapes my life, and will continue to be that way, even when my limbs become sore, rusted and stiff. Respecting nature and having consideration for all the life that lives within it is a state of mind and heart.

Earlier this week, we celebrated Earth Day 2014, and with spring already here, we can be out of doors celebrating all that is wild and natural around us. Connecting with flora and fauna in whatever way we choose helps us remember where we come from. We can stop and think about where our food comes from, and where the myriad of resources come from that help to keep us warm and provide us with shelter. When we stop to remind ourselves how grateful we need to be for these daily provisions, it brings a consciousness of gratitude. For, we are only temporary visitors on this extraordinary planet we lovingly call Earth.

So make a difference; do something!!!

• Plant flowers and trees• Take the kids to a conservation area• Volunteer for one of our national parks or anywhere• Don't litter, instead pick-up that stray candy wrapper• Stop, look and observe the birds, bunnies, bugs and creatures around you• Then, pass it on!

Being a hopeless and incurable romantic, I see the world through a "pretty" lense. In other words, for the most part, my rose colored glasses are nearly a permanent fixture of myworldview and how I move through life. One of the 'pretties' I indulge myself with is the flower; whether it's one, two or a bouquet, it is the sense of pleasure and happiness I receive from any blossom.

I love to buy fresh flowers for myself, and it's even nicer when someone gives them to me. When I lived in Waterloo, Ontario, I was nestled in the heart of Amish country, and what a lovely place to live. As springtime turned into summer, the flowers would bloom on the countryside, flower gardens were everywhere and there was no shortage of blooming color.

I would drive along any of the country roads, and an Amish farm would have a worn wooden table seated at the end of their lane with glass mason jars that were filled with abundant blooms. The colors were bright and happy beckoning any passerby to take them home.

Sweetness and romance for my visual and smelling senses; Snapdragons, Delphiniums, Peonies, Roses, Forget-me-nots, Lilacs and any variety of blossoms your mind could ever imagine. I would pick out my favorite bouquet for less than $5.00, and leave my money in the 'honesty' jar on the table, then drive off leaving a dust trail behind me. The thought of doing this is pure pleasure to my romantic senses. Oh, how I miss having the opportunity of doing this.

Living in Denver really does not afford me the same romantic luxury as being able to pull up to a farmer's lane and purchase homegrown flowers. Here I buy flowers from the market and then take them home to admire. Purchasing or picking fresh flowers is not a frivolous pursuit; far from it. To romance the senses is like saying 'hello' to that inner feeling of fluttering butterflies you get in your stomach when you are in love. It's not quite as nice as being kissed by the one youlove, but it does rejuvenate or kindle that burning fire of romance, and it bestows happiness on your soul.

Romance and the flower just seem to go together. It's the delicate balance of color, happiness, fragrance and 'pretty' that make a flower the beauty it is; and if not watered, fed and preserved, the flower wilts and then shrivels turning into a dry crumbled heap of brown and dark colors. Like the flower, romance is pleasure to the senses of seeing, smelling, feeling and leverages the love that two people share for one another.